


On The Wing

by xtwilightzx (blackidyll)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Airports, Culture Shock, Don’t copy to another site, Established Relationship, Fluff, Immigration & Emigration, M/M, Post-Series, Reunions, Trains, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 09:38:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19148413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackidyll/pseuds/xtwilightzx
Summary: Yuuri’s heart is thumping tangibly in his chest when he finally arrives at Pulkovo. He has never flown through St. Petersburg’s international airport before, but instinct and half a lifetime of travel experience steers him true, and he gets through immigration in record time simply by speed-walking ahead of his fellow disembarked passengers. Baggage claim is a time equalizer when it comes to arrivals – it’s anyone’s luck when your suitcase is spat out – but Yuuri doesn’t care.I’m here, he texts Victor while simultaneously willing the baggage carousels to start moving.I’m waiting, Victor sends back almost instantaneously, and Yuuri’s heartthrums.(Post-series fic. After Japanese Nationals, Yuuri leaves Hasetsu on a journey that includes a train ride and three flights, crosses six timezones, and racks up over twenty-four hours of travel before he finally reaches St. Petersburg – and Victor).





	On The Wing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the absolutely wonderful [Yuri On Ice Home Zine](https://yoihomezine.tumblr.com/), which collects fanworks related to the concept of home, whether it be a place, person or feeling; this piece was published in the _Uchi_ edition.
> 
> Please enjoy!

It begins, as all Yuuri's journeys out from Hasetsu do, with a train ride to Fukuoka.

The route from Yu-topia to Hasetsu Station is a familiar and well-trodden one, and Yuuri breathes in the brine of the nearby sea, his breath coalescing in the wintery air. In front of him, Mari drags his suitcase with blithe determination; the rustle of the suitcase wheels on gravel and pavement drowns out any casual conversation they might have, but—

Well, he and Mari have always been comfortable in silence around each other, even though quiet is hardly Mari’s default state.

True to her nature, Mari’s the first to speak when they arrive at the station.

“This feels really weird,” Mari says. She glances around the station, the ticketed gateways looming right ahead, and then her eyes land right back on Yuuri. “It’s like déjà vu, except not.”

Yuuri makes a face at her, because he’s the one living this journey once more and for him it feels even weirder.

Just like last time, their parents saw Yuuri off at Yu-topia’s entryway, and just like last time, Mari had walked him to the train station. But last time, Minako had volunteered to accompany Yuuri on his first trip to Detroit, to see him settled in and to iron out any potential issues with his residence visa and his orientation at the university and his membership at the skating club – and last time, Vicchan was a warm wiggling presence in Yuuri’s arms, constantly licking at Yuuri’s cheek and face and hands as if he understood just what they’d both be sacrificing when Yuuri seized the chance to train abroad.

Now, Mari and Yuuri both glance down at the miniature poodle-sized space they’d unconsciously left between them, before looking up to meet each other’s eyes. Surprisingly, they’re both smiling – Mari’s wide and nostalgic, Yuuri’s melancholic but fond.

“Come here, you,” Mari mutters, and then suits action to words, reaching forward to scrub at Yuuri’s hair. “I’m not gonna have to wait another five years to see you back here, am I?”

Yuuri ducks his head. “You know Victor adores this place, right? We’ll probably be back during the off-season.”

Mari snorts. “I won’t hold you to it. You have this tendency to jump tracks and skew even the best laid plans when something comes up.” She stares pointedly down at Yuuri’s hand, at the gleaming ring on his right ring finger. “Just promise me that you won’t elope. Like, at least give us a day’s notice if you get registered.”

Yuuri splutters. “Mari-nee-chan!”

Mari’s grin looks awfully sharp and terrifying. “Mom was delighted when Victor kissed you in Beijing, and Dad told me she was ecstatic when she saw the rings during the GPF broadcast, but between you and me, I think she wants to be around when something monumental happens to her one and only son. You know, just to witness it in person for once.”

Yuuri’s cheeks are flaming, but this time, he can’t quite tell if it’s embarrassment or the flush of guilt that’s heating up his face. “It—they—just happen. I don’t do it on purpose.”

“I know. I didn’t mean it that way.” Mari scruffs her knuckles through Yuuri’s hair once more, and then steps back to smile at him. “We all saw how you and Victor grew closer over the last eight months, you know? It was a lovely thing to witness, to look back on now that you’re officially together. You’re good for each other. I mean, you’re moving thousands of kilometers away again, but not just for your career. This time, you’re doing it for love.”

Yuuri looks up at her – Katsuki Mari, his big sister, the one who ferried Yuuri to ballet classes and figure skating lessons, who convinced their parents to get Vicchan, who may know very little about competitive skating and still supports and champions Yuuri whenever she can.

She’s content, here in Hasetsu. She lives vivaciously through Yuuri, had thoroughly enjoyed her time in Barcelona, but Mari has always known what she wants from life and planned her life around those wants accordingly. She’s exactly where she wants to be, and Yuuri wishes he could emulate her unwavering assurance, the confidence of being truly at peace with herself.

But Mari is Mari, and Yuuri is Yuuri, and for now, his wings still long to battle the stormy winds, to soar as high as he possibly can. There’s a part of Yuuri that will always love – and fear of – Hasetsu, but the town can’t contain him any longer, at least not at this stage of his life.  

Not when Victor needs to be somewhere else; Yuuri has tied his heart to Victor’s, after all.

Like the needle of a compass pulled ever northward, Yuuri glances at his phone – no messages; well, it’s not like they didn’t spend a few hours on speaker phone yesterday while Yuuri blitzed through the last of his packing – and the time flips over another minute, a subtle reminder that Yuuri has a train to catch.

“Time to go, huh?” Mari says, ever perceptive.

“Time to go,” Yuuri agrees. He takes the handle of his suitcase from Mari, and gets five steps away before he remembers he’d never actually responded to Mari’s words.

He glances over his shoulder, and of course, she’s still watching him. They’ve never been one for vocal goodbyes – it’s just so much easier, emotionally, to pretend this isn’t a parting for a good long while – but Mari’s spent her entire childhood and much of her early adult life watching over Yuuri, so of course she’ll wait until every last possible glimpse of Yuuri disappears before she leaves.

“Mari-nee-chan,” Yuuri says, and Mari tilts her head at him. “We’ll be back to see Mom and Dad, and Minako-sensei and the Nishigoris. But you’re always welcome to visit us in St. Petersburg.”

She blinks at him, and then the corner of her mouth goes up in a lopsided grin.

“I’ll think about it,” she says. “Give my best to Yurio-kun. And tell Victor to remember what I said.”

Yuuri pauses in the middle of feeding his ticket into the machine, but it sucks away the little paper slip before Yuuri can pull back. “Wait, what did you say to Victor?”

Mari smiles cheerily at him. “Remember to grab your ticket!”

Yuuri has no choice but to pass through the gates – he grabs his ticket on the other side, and then turns to eye Mari. “Did you give him the shovel talk? That’s a very Western thing to do.”

“You spent a good chunk of your life in America, little brother,” Mari points out. She flaps her hands at Yuuri, walking backwards as she speaks. “You’re going to miss your train if you don’t hurry.”

“Nee-chan!”

Mari laughs, bright and brash and happy, and Yuuri can’t help smiling in response as he steps onto the escalator, as it draws him away and out of Mari’s sight. It’s a pretty good last thing to hear as he leaves Hasetsu, Mari’s laughter. Like a little piece of home he can bring with him, echoing in his ears, warm and full of love.

\---

Long distance travel is strange.

St. Petersburg is six hours behind Hasetsu in terms of timezones, but it takes several modes of transport, three transits, and an unholy amount of waiting in a station or airport somewhere before Yuuri can actually get there. Yuuri has travelled frequently enough that he knows the best way to handle this – he has to take it in stages, because there’s no point worrying about arriving _at_ St. Petersburg if he misses a flight along the way, and it keeps his anxieties at a manageable level if he focuses on one possible crisis at a time.

Fukuoka is familiar in a distant, impersonal way, like a grocery store Yuuri shops at every week. With the airport just minutes away from the train station, it would have been Yuuri’s shortest transit if it weren’t for Minami.

With the bustle of New Year celebrations, Minami’s return to class for his last semester of high school and Yuuri’s own rush with paperwork, release forms and visa applications, Yuuri hasn’t seen Minami since Japanese Nationals. His schedule is packed enough that Yuuri barely ekes time to meet the younger skater, but Minami seems happy enough just to see him, the both of them ending up tucked away in a corner of a packed airport coffee shop.

Minami catches him up on all the news Yuuri missed while he’d been busy initiating his upcoming transcontinental move, but as Yuuri’s departure time looms up, Minami’s bright cheeriness dims, just the littlest bit. Yuuri watches him from behind his takeaway cup of tea, not quite sure if he should address the tension, but then Minami beats him to it.

“Yuuri-kun, I’m going to miss you.”

Yuuri bites back his automatic reaction to demure, and smiles at Minami instead. “I’ll miss you too. But I have to come back to Japan for JSF events, and I’ll see you at competitions, of course.”

“I know. It just feels like so many things are changing right now.” Minami pouts for a second, but then his eyes flick up, and there’s the will and determination that drives Minami as a competitive skater. “It must be even more difficult for you, Yuuri-kun. You just came back to Japan not too long ago.”

Yuuri just gives Minami a rueful smile, because moving halfway across the world might be a logistical nightmare coupled with bouts of homesickness and culture shock, but Yuuri can’t in honesty say it was harder than grieving – for Vicchan, for the loss of his faith and confidence, for all his dreams shattered under his feet. Back then, returning to Japan was Yuuri’s only resort; now, leaving it is simply the most logical option amongst many.

It’s not something Yuuri can easily explain, so he settles for a simpler sentiment. “It’s hard, but I like to think that what’s waiting for me on the other side makes all the stress worth it.” 

Minami’s eyebrows furrow as he processes the thought. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “It’s a bit like me graduating high school. I like the idea of university and skating full-time as a career, but it’s going to be hard, isn’t it?”

Yuuri nods, feeling tongue-tied all of a sudden. Minami is as different from Yuuri personality-wise as the sun is from the moon, but at this moment, Minami reminds Yuuri so strongly of his younger self – eighteen and frightened and yet determined to throw himself into the unknown – that Yuuri’s heart flips in his chest in empathetic concern.

He dredges the words out of himself, somehow. “It will be hard, but I think you’ll do just fine. Odagaki-san works well with you, and you have your family and your skating club. And—” Yuuri hesitates; not even a silver medal at a senior ISU competition can banish Yuuri’s insecurities, after all “—I’ll be far away, but you have me.”

Minami’s expression brightens, bouncing back with the resilience of youth. “You’re right, Yuuri-kun. And you have me, too! I’m happy for you and Victor-san. I’m really looking forward to skating with the both of you at Worlds!”

Yuuri isn’t sure what he ever did to deserve Minami, but if he needs reasons to be grateful for his sojourn back to Japan, Minami would be one of them.

“We’ll both do our best, then.” Yuuri manages to keep his voice even. “It’s a promise.”

\---

The hour and a half flight to Tokyo is just a short hop compared to what Yuuri has to deal with next, and he touches down at Narita with an air of anticipation. He can’t quite articulate why his nerves are singing under his skin, a buzz of energy similar to that familiar feeling of limitless potential after he takes his opening pose on the rink and before the music begins, but as Yuuri picks his way through the crowds, the lilting sounds of Japanese dispersing into a symphony of international languages, he thinks it must have something to do just where his next flight is taking him.

Figure skaters love their symbolism and artistry, after all, and the theme of necessary endings and new beginnings is quite an inspiring one.

It’s a good thing Yuuri’s made the domestic-to-international transfer about a hundred times before – he gets through the bus ride and passport control on autopilot, and when the boarding procedure spews him out on the other side of the terminal, he ends up wandering through the duty-free shops aimlessly. It’s far too early for him to camp out at his departure gate and he’s still nursing an itch that normally drives Yuuri towards the rink or a ballet studio, and although his phone yields up a dozen-odd messages from Victor, Yuuri keeps his replies to the same dozen-odd in return. Victor must have woken up in the middle of the night to message Yuuri midflight, after all. They’ll be dropping messages to each other at unpredictable intervals for the next day – goodness, eighteen full hours until Yuuri gets to St. Petersburg – but as much as Victor adores hearing from Yuuri, Victor has a long day full of obligations ahead of him and needs sleep more than anything else right now.

No amount of adoration and love, Yuuri has learned over the last few weeks, can quite make up for the grounding qualities that a good night’s rest offers.

He’s staring out of the wide terminal windows at the vast spaces of the airport grounds when his phone rings. There is no way Yuuri can help the jolt of expectation when he fishes his phone from his pocket, and although it isn’t Victor’s name on the screen, the one that’s there makes Yuuri smile all the same.

“Hi Phichit—” is all Yuuri gets out before Phichit cuts him off.

“Yuuri! Are you safely at Narita yet?”

The enthusiasm in his best friend’s voice is a welcomed distraction. “I touched down a while ago, but I still have about two hours until my next flight departs.”

“I thought so. I remembered you said your long flight was around noon, but I wasn’t a hundred percent sure. This is why you should actually post on your Instagram, you know! I can’t keep track of you at all when Victor’s not with you.”

Yuuri makes a face, even though Phichit can’t see him. “I’m sure his fans are getting sick of seeing me plastered all over his social media accounts. I mean, I’m definitely a Victor fan, and _I’d_ like more Victor content.”

“Like you don’t have your own private album of him,” Phichit says airily, and rolls onward before Yuuri can quite splutter at him over the line. “And there’s an easy solution – you two just need to take more selfies. Boom! Both Yuuri and Victor fans get what they want.”

Yuuri laughs before he can quite help himself, and quickly covers his mouth to muffle the sounds of it. He doubts anyone really cares, but there’s something about standing on Japanese ground – even if he’ll soon leave it – that makes all Yuuri’s Japanese sensibilities rear to the forefront. 

“That’s a good sound,” Phichit says, and Yuuri can hear the smile in his voice. “Are you doing okay?”

“Mm,” Yuuri hums. “You know, we fly long distances all the time for competitions.”

Phichit gives a quiet huff. “This trip of yours is different, and you know it. Competition flights are just transport, a means to an end. But when you’re moving, emigrating, making a huge change, the journey becomes—you know.”

“I know,” Yuuri says. Necessary endings and new beginnings, after all, and although this one isn’t as bad as that last flight away from Detroit – a _finite_ one, because Yuuri knew even then that he would never return to live in Detroit ever again – Yuuri knows Hasetsu will change in Yuuri’s absence, the town and its people pursuing their own path while Yuuri chases his elsewhere. “It’s significant.”

“Exactly,” Phichit says. “So. Are you doing okay?”

Yuuri watches a plane speed down the runway, its silver wings gleaming in the mid-morning sun. “I think,” he says slowly, “I’m just caught up in the act of _getting_ to St. Petersburg. I don’t think it’s going to hit me until I’ve been in the city for a while.”

Phichit’s laughter is soft and rueful this time. “No overwhelming feelings welling up in your chest and crying your eyes out in a washroom stall before forcing yourself to calm down so you can get through immigration, huh?”

Yuuri jerks his head back, eyes widening. He’d had been numbed into calmness by the time he left Detroit; that wasn’t his reaction. “Phichit, was that—”

“You left two week before I did. Celestino dropped me at the airport, and I knew he was going to fly over to Bangkok soon enough and that we’d see most of the Detroit skating club at competitions and all, but—everything was going to be different, and the moment I got to the check-in counter my emotions got the better of me.”

“I never knew,” Yuuri says.

“I didn’t want you to know. You were going through a lot at that time.” Phichit lets out a huff, and then he clicks his tongue, as if to banish away the seriousness of their previous conversation. “Anyway, you do sound okay though. I bet having Victor waiting for you when you arrive makes everything better.”  

Yuuri’s lips go up in a smile once more, unbidden. “Yes,” he says. And then, because anything else he could add would be pointless, he just lets the quiet lapse between them once more, always comfortable in silence around Phichit.

“You know,” Phichit muses, “I’m surprised Victor doesn’t have a countdown or something on his Instagram for your arrival.”

“Yakov’s decided that the best way to keep Victor out of trouble is keep him busy. Besides, it’s better to message or talk to me over the phone than it is to just post photos, right?”

“Photos are forever,” Phichit says mock haughtily, and then he laughs, low and resonant like a bell. “Anyway, I have to head to the rink. Write to me or call me when you’ve settled in, okay? You know I worry.”

“I will,” Yuuri says, because with friends like Phichit, things like time zones or physical locations mean little; Phichit will find ways to get to him if Yuuri doesn’t reply to his messages or video calls. “And I’ll see you at Four Continents.”

“Taipei 101!” Phichit crows, undoubtedly already thinking of the photo opportunities of being in a new city. Undoubtedly, Yuuri will be in most of them. “Have a safe flight, Yuuri.”

“Thanks, Phichit.”

\---

The call with Phichit calms Yuuri considerably, and Yuuri finds himself a bank of chairs near his departure gate and settles in for the wait.

As an internationally-ranked athlete as well as one that lives abroad, Yuuri has spent quite a chunk of his life passing through airports, and unlike some of his fellow skaters, he doesn’t really mind the time spent in them. For one, showing up early and opting for longer transit times to counter the long check in and security lines and any possible flight delays does wonders for Yuuri’s nagging anxiety. For another, Yuuri finds himself rather fond of the transportation hubs he passes through.

There’s an odd comfort to airports, in their sheer indifference. No matter how outwardly different each airport is – utilitarian like many of the smaller regional ones are, architectural marvels like Abu Dhabi’s international airport, or cultural and artistically-rich like Vancouver International Airport – the core of them remains the same. Baggage and check-in procedures, security and passport control, departure gates and boarding and arrival procedures, even the sheer flux and flow of passengers, anonymous and diverse – they all remain essentially the same no matter where in the world he is, and as long as he follows those same basic rules, Yuuri can do no wrong.

Transient though airport spaces may be, Yuuri still finds himself comfortably at home within them.

It’s the same when he shuffles onboard the plane and finds his seat. He has his routine down to a tee: phone switched to airplane mode, face mask on and headphones ready, and his backpack stashed in the compartments above so he can stretch his feet out under the seat in front of him. He leaves his seatbelt off until the seats around him have all filled in, and then he settles into his seat, his space of temporary but personal territory for the next ten and a half hours.

The chime of the seatbelt sign going on, the cabin-wide welcome speech the captain gives, in Russian, English, and translated into Japanese by the in-flight service manager – ah, the perks of flying an international route from a major Japanese city on a Russian airline – and the low whine of the engines powering up, gradually becoming a roar; it’s all soothingly, predictably routine, and Yuuri finds himself smiling in that infinite moment just before the thrust of the engines overcomes gravity. Then the entire plane swoops upwards, and Yuuri turns to stare out the cabin windows, to catch one last fleeting glimpse of Tokyo before they break through the clouds.

Then the seatbelt sign goes off, the air attendants begin patrolling through the cabin and the passengers around breathe out sighs, seatbelts clicking off, seat trays rattling, and although the next ten long hours should feel interminable, Yuuri just relaxes further into his seat instead. 

There is absolutely nothing Yuuri can do for the entire duration of the flight, and that’s exactly what’s so comforting about it. It’s like his head and heart both recognize the futility of overthinking, and so his anxious thoughts fade into neutral quietude instead: whatever happens, he can only deal with it when he steps off the plane, so why panic about it?

Yuuri wishes he could find a way to emulate that calm space of emotional limbo when he’s _not_ on a plane – right before a competition would be really helpful – but until he figures out how, he’ll just enjoy the long plane rides instead. And although the seats are cramped, the air dry and filtered, and the passengers around him unpredictable and occasionally quite annoying, Yuuri gets some of his most peaceful naps dozing away in an airplane seat.

Plus, when he next wakes up, it’ll probably be to the air attendants rattling along with the meal trolleys, and Yuuri will be that much closer to seeing Victor.

It’s a nice thought to drift off to.

Yuuri gives the little kid peering through the gap between the seats in front of him a tiny, friendly wave – because his smile would go unnoticed behind his face mask – and then closes his eyes.

\---

Yuuri does get nervous though when he steps off the skybridge and into Sheremetyevo International Airport. It doesn’t matter that he already has a valid visa and a bulletproof set of documents and a formal invitation from the Yubileyny Sport Club; his stomach swoops when he hands his passport to the Russian immigration officer, trying to look as innocuous and friendly as possible even though he’s groggy to hell and back.

The officer just stamps his passport and hands it back with a reminder to keep his migration form and documents in order, however, and Yuuri flees through the gates with his passport clutched in his hands, relief washing through him with the heady lightness of champagne.

He’s in Russia now. The airport signs all bear Cyrillic writing, and although it’s a little daunting to be here on his own, without his skating team or a family member in tow, Yuuri is actually, finally in the same country as Victor.

His limbs still feel sluggish from over ten hours of inactivity and he badly needs to freshen up, but Yuuri digs out his phone, waits impatiently for it to find a roaming signal, and then dials.

A Russian skater picks up his call – just not the one he expects.

“It’s about time.”

Yuuri actually pulls his phone away to make sure he tapped on the right contact. No, it’s Victor’s name on the call.

“Yurio? Why do you have Victor’s phone?”

“Why do you think I have the old man’s phone?” Yurio’s voice is dripping with acid. “He’s been distracted all day, and Yakov finally snapped. Then Victor wouldn’t stop whining until we promised someone would watch over his phone in case you called, so I got stuck with phone babysitting duty.”

“You’re both still on the ice?” Yuuri says, surprised, before remembering that, thanks to the magical properties of timezones, it’s only late afternoon here in Russia.

“Victor’s on the ice, and I’m in the dance studio.” The silent, somewhat condescending _obviously!_ is, well, quite obvious from Yurio’s voice, but Yuuri is used to it. “You’re in Moscow, right?”

“You remember my flight itinerary?” Yuuri says, touched.

“ _No_ ,” Yurio immediately protests. “Victor just wouldn’t shut up about it. I’ll tell him you called, but you owe me.”

“Okay,” Yuuri says, “but could you tell him—”

“You’ll see him in a couple of hours, _Katsudon_ , I don’t want to deal with your sappiness. You better come to the rink on Monday!”

And then Yurio hangs up on him.

Yuuri stands there stupidly for a moment, blinking. He finally remembers to lower the phone, but there’s an involuntary smile tugging at his mouth, because – that’s such a Yurio thing to do.

Yuuri can’t wait to see them all, anticipation tugging at him like a tiny little hook in his heart.

\---

Yuuri’s heart is thumping tangibly in his chest when he finally arrives at Pulkovo. He has never flown through St. Petersburg’s international airport before, but instinct and half a lifetime of travel experience steers him true, and he gets through immigration in record time simply by speed-walking ahead of his fellow disembarked passengers. Baggage claim is a time equalizer when it comes to arrivals – it’s anyone’s luck when your suitcase is spat out – but Yuuri doesn’t care.

 _I’m here_ , something inside Yuuri’s veins is singing. _I’m here, I’m here, I’m—_

 _I’m here_ , he texts Victor while simultaneously willing the baggage carousels to start moving.

 _I’m waiting_ , Victor sends back almost instantaneously, and Yuuri’s heart _thrums_.

He doesn’t know how much time passes before his suitcase slides down the ramp and thumps onto the carousel, but Yuuri is ready. He breaks through the crowd, snags it and is off towards customs even before he even gets the suitcase handle all the way out.

The face mask ends up in his jacket pocket, together with his phone and his passport. Yuuri passes over his customs form with one hand, keeping his other firmly on his suitcase, and starts scanning the crowds the moment he steps through the security gates.

A hand goes up, waves, and Yuuri locks gazes with a pair of dearly beloved blue-green eyes.

This time, there is no speeding run towards each other, no hungering desperation as Yuuri cuts through the masses of waiting friends and family. Victor’s weight is thrown forward on his toes like he wants to meet Yuuri halfway and is just barely holding back, but he waits, and it’s better like this – like this, they’re out of the way, and Yuuri can reach out with one hand and catch Victor’s without worrying about their reunion being interrupted or blocking anyone else’s way.

The moment they take to just look at each other feels timeless, infinite. Victor’s grip on Yuuri’s hand is strong, their rings clinking quietly against each other. The ends of Victor’s hair are curling along the nape of his neck, still shower damp – he must have sped for the airport directly from skating practice – and although there’s a tiny furrow of strain between Victor’s eyebrows that Yuuri longs to smooth out, caress away, Victor’s eyes are bright and so very warm, emotions shifting behind them, as variable as the ocean.

“You’re finally here,” Victor says, and Yuuri would close his eyes to savour the sound of Victor’s voice without the interference of technology if he could bring himself to break eye contact. Victor laughs, quiet and relieved. “Maybe St. Petersburg will finally start feeling like home again.”

Yuuri’s heart thumps again, and he pulls their clasped hands towards his chest, protective, sweeping his thumb against Victor’s skin. He understands, that feeling of returning to a place that should be home but realizing that it has changed, of being two degrees out of synch with a place that should be as familiar as your own hand. And Yuuri knows he himself will be going through a series of adjustments, learning the rules and rhythms of a new culture, new attitudes, a new way of life.

They’re two birds flying on the wing, he and Victor, in migration and in search of better, more suitable conditions. For a time, Hasetsu was that ideal place, and perhaps in time St. Petersburg will become the same, but amidst the uncertainty and risks Yuuri is sure of one thing.

They might both be a little lost right now, but they are together, sharing the burden of the flight, and at night, they can roost with each other, sheltered and safe and loved.

“I am,” Yuuri says. “And we’ll figure it out together.”

Victor’s smile is like the rising sun, slow to build but spreading warmth throughout Yuuri’s body, and like the glorious dawn it is utterly breathtaking.

There’s so much they have to say, that Yuuri wants to share, but there is time enough for that later. For now, Victor tugs Yuuri gently towards the exits, towards the city of St. Petersburg beyond, and Yuuri squeezes Victor’s hand; doesn’t let go.

**Author's Note:**

>  _on the wing:_ (of birds) in flight
> 
> \--
> 
> I wasn't sure what I was doing while writing this fic (it started as an quirky love letter to airports and transient spaces), but in hindsight: 
> 
> Home is an incredibly fluid concept for expatriates, and I wanted to capture this intangible idea: when you can't decisively call anywhere your home – whether it's because you're out of synch with the place that "should" be home, or because you know the place you're currently most comfortable with is somewhere you'll likely never go back to, or because you leave a piece of your heart behind at each city and country you've lived in and so you'll always feel that something is missing no matter where you go – well, when nowhere is truly "home," then you learn to find bits and pieces and echoes of "home" everywhere you go. 
> 
> You find it with tiny moments of contact, a voice, a friendly smile. You find it in transient spaces like airports and train stations because when you're a global nomad, you begin to belong to those spaces. You learn to feel at home just being with yourself, in a crowd of anonymous, diverse people, and then, if you're lucky, you find people who are like you, who understand and empathize and can share that lonely but unique sense of belonging to nowhere and everywhere at once, and then-
> 
> You realize that you define your own concept of home, and that you can find pieces of that home with those people.
> 
> This fic is about Yuuri, but really, it all applies to Victor as well. 
> 
> Anyway, to the expats and military/diplomatic/business TCKs and global nomads - I hope this resonates at least a little with you. Since I already wrote a [ YOI fic exploring the theme of culture shock/reverse culture shock](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11347065), I guess it isn't surprising that this one ended up focusing on the physical journey of emigrating. 
> 
> \--
> 
> If you enjoy my YOI works, please keep an eye out for my YOI/Victuuri Reverse Bang entry this year. Postings begin later this month (our posting date is on May 26th!), and I'm very much looking forward to sharing the project that my artist and I have been working on the past four or so months :)


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